


A Demon And A Wizard Walk Into A Bar

by ignited



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Once Upon a Time in Mexico (2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-25
Updated: 2005-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignited/pseuds/ignited
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley, Sirius, alcohol, their 'close' friends, and a slight reference in regard to a certain CIA agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Demon And A Wizard Walk Into A Bar

A demon and a wizard walk into a bar.

Actually, it wasn’t like that. It was more like a demon slithering in and a wizard simply falling in. Plus, they didn’t really come in at the same time, so it was more of ‘a demon sat and a wizard then came in a few hours later’.

Crowley rested his cheek on his palm, pushing his sunglasses back up on his nose. He found this Sirius character quite amusing. And drunk. Very drunk. He was a wizard of course -- Crowley could tell, that and many other things -- and an Animagus to boot. Clever one, to study for it and not be registered. Must be handy.

After all, if demons and angels were called to meddle with the affairs of humans, shouldn’t they meddle with the affairs of wizards, that slightly higher level?

He thought Aziraphale would be slightly horrified at this particular line of thinking, which made him grin. Grinned at nothing, poked at his drink, the bartender not giving any reaction. This was that sort of bar that any joke could be set up from, it seemed. The bartender had just been telling Crowley a few hours before that some “lunatic wearing sunglasses just like yours kept a gun out right in front of him -- looked a lot like you, even. Spittin’ image. Relative of yours?”

Crowley had to tell him that no, he had no relative named Sands, and really, he had no relatives. At all.

That whole process of creating and getting attached, humans weren’t really up for it, not like _this_. Crowley either. He couldn’t be bothered.

Which was truly an utter lie, given that he was not Aziraphale who possibly didn’t know about wanking, let alone the reproductive system and “sexual intercourse.” Granted, a silly and inaccurate notion -- Aziraphale was far from innocent -- but a fun one nonetheless.

At that point Crowley thought he was possibly drunk. He did feel a bit tingly.

Speaking of drunk, that Sirius fellow -- no need to prod for his name, he was shouting out randomly, outbursts of jokes and lewd desires -- was hammered, a very sorry sight, considering his appearance. Handsome, good clothes, good taste in drink. There was no need for him to be at a bar drowning himself in drink and sorrows.

Unless he was impotent or something.

The thing about Crowley is that he did not think of himself as one to start up conversation. Sure, he did, but he wasn’t exactly the socializing sort. Overly socializing. There was the needed socializing -- how are you and yours? I’m fine, thank you, won’t see you later, you’ll have a literal plague on both your houses very soon -- and there was the unneeded socializing. Twittering amongst women, reminding him all too much of Hell. Lot of twittering there. And screaming, and fire crackling. It was very noisy. You couldn’t think too much there. You couldn’t really _think_ \-- you’d be lucky if your brain remained intact.

Which was altogether another silly notion, another reminder that Crowley must be drunk.

Crowley decided he was tired of remaining quiet for once, and just as he was about to open his mouth, Sirius moaned. …More than the usual.

“The… _cunt_. Fucking wanker.”

Sirius, who had his head buried in his arms underneath a tangle of long dark hair, turned to his left. He murmured, “Not you, sorry,” and groaned again.

“Personal troubles?” There, you’ve gone and done it, he thought. There’s no turning back now. And you shouldn’t be so worried or dreading -- your fault, you know, whether or not his pain is pleasurable. …That’s a bonus, indeed.

“Lupin troubles.”

“Lupin?”

Sirius rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand, stretching and leaning back. He looked like a young boy, though twenty or so (young, so young) and the actions just reinforced that. “School friend, ‘s all. Nothing of your concern.”

“Considering that you might retch upon my sleeve at any moment, I would like to know more about the cunt that’s making you so… sloshed.”

This Sirius fellow seemed to hold no reserve as he let forth a barrage of insults, both normal and strange, from missed meetings and erratic things, like the way Lupin took his tea and which direction he stirred it. Oh, and how he liked his books all arranged but wouldn’t take any offers for free ones, no, he was too proud for that.

It was far too ironic at that point for Crowley to compare Remus and Aziraphale, so he left that to the imagination. His own imagination being a dirty and detestable whirlpool of evil, all that. Demon, after all.

Crowley only nodded at the appropriate times, sparing a glance of pity for the boy -- he’ll have it worse soon enough, no need to add to the pile. Though, it’d be fun to, might get him a gold star (or whatever the hellish equivalent), but he just knew Aziraphale would somehow find out, and he wasn’t in the mood to start shifting about uncomfortably like some school boy.

So he listened to Sirius vent his frustration, paid for his drink, and helped him outside. The streets were mostly empty by that time, a few clutches of people here and there, returning or going to clubs. It was very dreary, very wet, and very cold. Crowley longed to be in his car, speeding home, but he was not finished. After all, he couldn’t leave the boy out in the gutter, especially if said boy happened to be leaning very close and had his face buried in the crux of Crowley’s neck and shoulder.

A minute later, Sirius was sent off in a black cab, called at Crowley’s desire. He protested the idea yet Crowley pointed out that he was in no shape to Apparate. It was amusing to see the look on Sirius’s face at the word, even more to see him smile with realization when he slipped into the black cab, sprawling unceremoniously upon the leather seat.

Crowley waved good-bye, and the last thing he saw of Sirius Black was his propped up knee and the way his longish hair fell across the seat’s edge. He watched the cab drive off, felt himself shift his weight uncomfortably while kicking a small piece of trash.

It was a dark and stormy night, and Crowley needed to have a cold shower once he got home.

END


End file.
